


Take Shelter

by tresshots



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cock Slut Stiles Stilinski, Cop Fetish, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Horny Teenagers, Idiots in Love, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Slut Shaming, Snowballing, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:46:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tresshots/pseuds/tresshots
Summary: Stiles loves cock. Everybody in Beacon High knows it. They may whisper about him taking it up the ass, but at least he’s getting some. 
Cue in Derek Hale. One year older, handsome and totally unobtainable – or that’s what Stiles thought. It didn’t take more than one suggestive curl of Derek’s eyebrows and Stiles got on his knees, just like that. So what if Derek doesn’t want to hold his hand in public? He hits all Stiles' kinks at once, and anyways it’s just taking some time, Stiles figures, for Derek to come on terms with being in a relationship with a guy...





	1. running around like we don't care

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be pure filthy porn but then I got distracted by feelings. Oh well! Title's and also the chapter names are from Years&Years' song Take Shelter which is playing on a constant loop when writing this.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Lacrosse practice has just ended, and (nearly) the whole team is changing in the locker room. They’re all doing their best to ignore the noise coming from the showers, although a slight chuckle does travel around. Nobody looks at each other in the eye, and they leave, mostly by best friend pairs, erupting in laughter and chatter once the door’s safely closed behind.

Bang. Bang. Bang. The locker room is finally empty. The rhythm echoes on.

“Think that’s everybody? Or do you figure some just pretended to leave, and they’ll be sneaking here after I’m done with you, eager for my sloppy seconds?” Derek Hale, the lacrosse captain and general golden boy muses. He’s not expecting an answer, of course, and Stiles Stilinski knows it too. After all, how could he speak with his mouth so full of dick?

“Surely you can do better than that,” Derek challenges and buries himself even deeper into Stiles’ eager mouth. “I’m close. Can you lick my balls – yeah, that’s it. Shit, have you been practicing?” He lets out a laugh which turns into a sigh. “I’m gonna come in a second, you can hump my leg now if you wanna come too,” he says and Stiles complies gratefully, spreads his legs around Derek’s, and starts chasing friction.

“You love it, love sucking my dick and humping my leg like a fucking dog. Look at you, so fucking desperate – Stiles – you’re such a _slut_ \- “ Derek moans, and then he’s coming, covering Stiles in white.

"I'm not a slut," Stiles says, wiping at the corner of his mouth with his hand.

"Really? You look like one to me," Derek sneers. “Shit, that was good. Thanks.” He slaps Stiles’ face with his dick one more time, picks his towel from the rack and heads for the door.

“But I didn’t get to come yet,” Stiles panics. He’s still painfully hard, dick desperately spitting into his own hand.

“Sucks to be you,” Derek calls over his shoulder. “Literally. Well, there’s always the next time. Bye, Stilinski.” And then he’s gone, leaving Stiles on his knees.

So Stiles does what he can. Grips himself with a furious touch, not bothering for any kind of finesse. Remembers Derek’s weight on his tongue, chases after the taste of his come. He spurts angry and fast and feels like he always does after Derek: one part used, one part satisfied, mostly very much in love.

 

 

Stiles loves cock. Everybody in Beacon High knows it. It’s one of those things where somebody once thought they saw or heard something, told forward and suddenly the whole community is aware and accepting of the fact.

As it happens, Stiles Stilinski is nothing more but a cum bucket, is the gossip. Normally that would be the type of thing to destroy a teenager’s life, right? And naturally, because they’re teenagers and as such fifty percent horny and fifty percent pure evil, some have tried it, mainly Jackson and his pussy posse. But the problem is that Stiles refuses to carry the title with anything but pride. Maybe they all loathe him for being so shamelessly sexual, but they lust after him too, and that’s the important part.

Even the most heterosexually repressed guys can’t help but follow him with hungry eyes, and Stiles knows it. Doesn’t use it, but he _knows_ and it makes the whole thing a lot easier. Whenever somebody cracks a joke in sex ed about Stiles being the more knowledgeable teacher instead of 60 year old Ms. Hatchbury, who is known to own eight cats and has never sported a wedding ring – well, what else is there to do except smile smugly? They may whisper about him taking it up the ass, but at least he’s getting some. And if sexual experience doesn’t count as street cred among high schoolers, then what does?

Stiles isn't stupid, he knows what he's been doing. His endless love for self pleasure, talkativeness in sex ed and biology, his horny looks at good looking classmates - whatever. It gave him a reputation, but imagine his surprise when somebody actually _did_ something about it. Cue in Derek Hale. One year older, so handsome God totally wept when crafting him, good with sports and grades too, and totally unobtainable – or that’s what Stiles thought.

It didn’t take more than one suggestive curl of Derek’s impressive eyebrows after lacrosse practice, and Stiles was sold, went down on him just like that. He swears he felt actual sparkles shooting out his dick that first time; Derek knew just how to treat him, rough and degrading, hitting all Stiles’ kinks at once.

It’s just taking some time, Stiles figures, for Derek to come on terms with being in a relationship with a guy. Because there’s not a doubt in Stiles’ mind that this is a relationship: it may be based on filthy, depraved sex, but there’s tender moments, too. Sometimes. Not too often, but they do exist, and that’s what gives Stiles hope whenever he sees Derek flirting with one of the cheerleaders. ‘Cause they may get those wide-spread smiles, but Stiles gets the real deal. He knows what Derek gets off on, can make him blow his load under five minutes if needed, and nobody can take that away from him. So what if Derek doesn’t want to hold his hand in public? They’ve got something better, they’re sexually compatible and whatever, it’s coming soon anyway, Stiles knows it.

It’s just hard to keep that thought in mind in moments like these. Currently Stiles is sitting with Scott in their usual lunch table and trying his absolute best to block out the sight of Derek surrounded by his usual pack of admirers. 

Scott’s still blabbering about Allison and her shiny hair, as usual, when Stiles’ phone bleeps. Like a proper millennial he pays immediate attention and even more so when he sees who’s sent the text.

**Derek:** _behind the bleachers in 5_

Stiles finds Derek's gaze immediately, and he’s staring at Stiles with such intensity it makes his toes curl.

”Who is it?” Scott has stopped his Allison rant, looking like he knows the answer already.

”Nobody,” Stiles answers, but he’s wiggling his eyebrows. This is going to be good, he knows it. Derek doesn’t usually want anything to do with him during school hours, prefers meeting after school or practice, so this must be pretty special. Probably some pent up frustration, which works well for Stiles; means he’s in for a ride.

 

 

“Hi,” Stiles says out of breath as he closes in on Derek. He doesn’t get even a mere hello in return, which, _rude_ , and he thinks about complaining but then his mouth is already taken by a devouring kiss.

“What took you so fucking long?” Derek grumbles, and Stiles was right, he _is_ wound up tight, judging by the eyebrows which are drawn together in the middle, and the shoulders which feel tense under Stiles’ palms.

“Sorry, I know, I was – “

“I don’t actually care, get on your knees.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Stiles huffs but does as he’s told. He knows better than to deny Derek when he’s in this mindset. He looks up and Derek curls one hand behind his head, tugs at his hair with force, and he’s snapping his belt open with the other. Stiles’ mouth waters at the sound. This is gonna be so good.

“Somebody’s eager, huh? What, didn’t have time to spread your legs for anybody else today? Don’t worry; if you begged nicely enough, I’m sure somebody would’ve been willing to pound you.” Derek gets his cock out and it’s there, in front of Stiles, and he wants it _right now_.

“Can’t, too busy sucking your cock,” Stiles confesses just before Derek pushes inside his mouth. It’s so fucking thick, makes Stiles’ eyes roll with pleasure.

“I heard there’s now a gloryhole at Jungle. Maybe we should go there, next time,” Derek muses, then chuckles. “What the fuck am I talking about. You’ve been there already, haven’t you? Tell me, was it enough? Got those big adult cocks fucking your little mouth? Did you give them anal, too?”

Stiles is groaning, would nod if it didn’t bother the blowjob, he only wants this to be good for Derek, that’s all he ever wants.

“I think you did. I think they were waiting in line, and you were there on all fours, begging for hard deep dicking. Weren't you?”

Stiles gasps as Derek pulls out to tease him, the head of his dick wetting Stiles’ lips with spurts of precum. His own hand sneaks to cup himself through his jeans; Stiles is already leaking into his boxers, but he doesn’t care, he only wants Derek to enjoy this and keep talking.

“Yeah,” Derek grunts with satisfaction. “I could even start charging for you. What do you think, five dollars for mouth, ten for ass? Or maybe that would ruin it all. You don’t even need money, you simply love dick. You’re not even a two dollar whore. You’re just a public cock hungry fuckhole,” he says and moans with it, and Stiles can feel his cock twitch as Derek feeds it back in.

“Yeah, that’s it, moan around my big dick,” Derek coaxes. “Show me your tongue,” he says suddenly. “I’m coming.”

Stiles pushes his tongue out. Derek strips his cock with furious strokes, keeps looking at Stiles, eyes traveling around his face, and then his other hand finds its way back to Stiles’ neck and squeezes. The moan Stiles lets out is absolutely pornographic, and Derek responds in same manner.

“Not in the face,” Stiles tries, but too late. Derek’s already shooting and he’s aiming it all over Stiles’ face, the absolute _fucker_. Stiles closes his eyes just in time as he feels the first drops of warm cum.

Derek’s panting with great satisfaction as Stiles curses silently and then reaches for his own cock. He doesn’t need but a couple of strokes and he’s coming, shooting to the ground.

It takes a while for them both to even their breaths, and then Stiles starts bitching. “I’ve told you a thousand times, no coming in my face while in school. Are you deaf or what?”

“What do you care?” Derek looks like he hasn't had a moment's worry in his entire life.

“I have class in five, dickhead.”

“Here, stop whining,” Derek says and helpfully scoops some of his own cum with his fingers, brings it to Stiles’ lips. Stiles considers refusing for a moment, but then Derek looks slightly disappointed, so Stiles opens his mouth. Derek is very thorough with his cleanup method, feeding Stiles until most of the mess is gone.

Derek tucks his spent cock in his jeans, snaps the belt back in place. Stiles shakes his head and does the same, watches as Derek lights a cigarette.

He offers Stiles one, who accepts with greedy fingers and gets up from the ground, tries to tidy the knees of his jeans best as he can. “So what’s got you so wound up?” Stiles asks as Derek offers him a lighter.

“Nothing,” Derek says but his mouth is an unhappy downwards curl. Stiles looks at him and he shrugs. “It’s stupid. Just some family stuff.”

“Sounds very serious.”

“Laura’s visiting. She can be fucking garbage when she wants to,” Derek complains, suddenly fiery, getting a chuckle out of Stiles. “What’re you laughing at?” he asks sharply.

“Just didn’t think you were the type to get scared of a big sister,” Stiles says still snickering.

“See, you’re only serving that attitude because you haven’t ever met her,” Derek says with complete seriousness. “Have you?”

“I mean, sure I could point her out from a crowd, but I don’t think she’d be able to do the same.”

Derek nods and takes a deep drag. His words are languid and casual as he speaks up. “Just in case you’re interested in meeting her, there’s an outdoor cinema event tonight at the park.”

“Wow. Isn’t that what the popular kids do? I haven’t really gotten lucky with the invites,” Stiles goes for defensive after a moment's silence. This is all very strange; usually Derek doesn’t stay for long after their trysts.

“Oh.” Derek looks bothered for some reason, but then shrugs with one shoulder. “Well, consider yourself invited.”

“What?” Stiles thinks his heart has just stopped. Is it finally happening? Is Derek asking him to be his date? To meet his sister, nevertheless?

“Sure, why not,” Derek says, all gorgeous and dangerous. “They’re showing Halloween tonight, I’ve never liked horror movies anyways. I could do with a little entertainment.”

“Got it,” Stiles says softly. He swallows and goes for casual. God help he ruin this by being overeager. “Well, I’m not sure. I was planning on a Game of Thrones marathon.”

“Whatever suits you,” Derek says, but the tips of his ears are burning red. As he takes another drag and doesn’t seem to follow it up with anything, Stiles hurries to put everything he’s got on stake.

“Unless you want me to come.” He makes sure to pair it up with air of complete indifference, all the while his heart is pounding in his ears.

Derek snorts. “I don’t particularly care about you coming.”

It takes a while for Stiles to recover. “Asshole,” he scoffs, feeling slightly humiliated. He's so out of his element.

“That was a joke, come on.” Derek’s actually smiling, and what is this, friendly banter? God, if this isn’t the most bizarre conversation they've ever had.

“A poor one.”

“Made you laugh though.”

“Yeah, cause apparently I don’t love myself enough.”

“Good thing you’ve got me then,” Derek says like it’s nothing.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, completely unsure of how to proceed. Like _loving_ and _Derek_ have anything to do together in a sentence. But maybe it could – this could be _it_. This could be their moment, and so Stiles is shaping the question in his mind – _is this a date?_ – four little words, sure he can do this - and then the bells ring, making Stiles scramble for his belongings. “Oh shit, I really gotta go.” He dumps the cigarette butt, wipes at his face with his sleeve.

Derek’s lighting up another cigarette. “Well?” he asks as Stiles just keeps looking at him like an idiot.

”Right. So. Whatever,” he says as he picks his bag pack from where he dropped it carelessly, turns around on his heels.

“Bye, Stilinski,” comes the familiar, lazy holler behind him, but this time it sounds strangely like an inside joke for two instead of a slightly veiled insult.


	2. make it so you never know how much i have messed it up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE. Also, okay, so Sterek is the mothership of all my ships, I've never really cared about pairing them up with anybody else, but then Stiles/Jordan was practically unavoidable and I thought, hey, hot cop sex? Why not? So I ran with it. It's all part of a bigger plan! These dumb boys need to learn ok!!

 

Stiles is bursting with nerves as he drums at the steering wheel of his Jeep. Ten more minutes until the movie is starting, fuck, why didn’t he leave sooner? – he knows why, he just _had_ to do his hair one more time.

Like Derek has ever cared about his hair. Or about _him_ for that matter. God, this is _such an idiotic thing to do_ , but still – he’d never admit it but for the first time in forever Stiles is touched with a foolish thing called hope.

He was invited, okay? Derek _did_ sort of ask him go come, there’s no reason to be this nervous. Sure he will get some long looks, but when doesn’t he? And it’ll be okay. He’ll just find Derek, even if he’s surrounded by his stupid friends, and then Derek will invite him over and it’ll all work out perfectly in the end.

An organizer waves at Stiles to drive forward, and his stomach is taking the shape of a knot when he does, and then he’s not sure what to do. There are a lot of people in the park for the movie screening, and even though it’s supposed to be a drive-in event, most are on foot and so Stiles decides to park. It’s not like he cares about the stupid movie anyway, he just wants Derek.

So he leaves the Jeep and starts searching the crowd. It’s a Friday night so lots of people have come, although it’s nearing Halloween and they’re showing Halloween, so thank God there’s not much elders on move. Stiles shivers in his thin t-shirt, wishes he had worn more, and then he bashfully wonders in the back of his mind whether Derek would loan him his jacket if he asked or something – and what if he _would_? Derek would take him by hand and lead him to his Camaro, wanting to get away from everybody else because Derek just wants him _that much_ , and then they would –

there would be kissing and maybe a sweet, slow handjob and Derek would look him in the eye and whisper something, and Stiles wouldn’t have heard so he’d have to say it again -

and then –

_then_.

Stiles stops in his tracks.

He’s reached the sideline of the park where he’d suspected all the Beacon Hills students would be holding residence, and he was right. And what he sees is just – yeah.

Lydia and Jackson are holding court, Jackson in the middle of it all, reciting some terribly funny story to the crowd. And Derek’s listening like everybody else, and there’s an absolutely striking blonde chick in his lap. His muscled arm is curled protectively around her waist, and her short little skirt and amazing cleavage make them pretty much the hottest couple to ever have coupled. They’re like something out of those TV series where the supposed high schoolers are actually portrayed by actors five years older, already gone through puberty.

And it’s not like Stiles hasn’t ever seen Derek flirt with girls from their school, but this is different. Stiles doesn’t recognize the girl at all which means Derek is pulling college level pussy. And what actually guts Stiles, as he keeps watching, is that when Jackson has reached the peak of his story, making everybody laugh, Derek turns to hide his laughter in the girl’s neck. They look so comfy together, so familiar with each other, this can’t be just a one-time thing. It’s clear that Derek actually admires the girl, respects her, hell, by the looks of it could even love her.

It’s so fucking unfair, is what Stiles thinks as he does the only thing he can: turns on his heels, presses a hand over his burning eyes – he’s not going to cry, he _won’t_ – it’s simply unfair that guys like Derek exist when guys like Stiles won’t ever be able to have them.

 

 

So of course Stiles is just considering the pros and cons of Taylor Swift when blue lights flash behind him, making him slam his fist against the wheel. ”Fuck this whole fucking night to the lowest pits of Hell,” he mutters as he pulls to stop. It’s an empty, unpopular route, just like him. Talk about poetic justice or what.

He opens his window and peeks out, recognizes Jordan, the officer getting out of the police vehicle: definitely good looking but always distantly friendly. ”What now?” he shouts when Jordan is in hearing distance.

“Stiles,” Jordan greets as he walks next to the Jeep. “You do know you were speeding, right? And we’re not talking a minor offence here, you drive like Satan’s on your heels.”

“Might as well call it that,” Stiles sighs. “Look, hey. Don’t tell my dad.”

“License and registration, please.”

“Mother _fucking_ hell.”

Jordan looks sharply at him. “Have you been drinking? Smoking?” he accuses and Stiles just loses his shit.

“Fuck you,” he doesn’t even bother to keep his voice down. “This was already the worst day of my life, I don’t need a dickhead speech from a rookie like you.”

“Excuse me?” Jordan looks hella pissed off. Stiles winces and is about to reach for an apology when Jordan opens the driver’s door. “Get out of the car.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles splutters. Fuck apologies! Who does this guy think he is?

“Get out.”

“This is a joke.” Stiles shakes his head manically but does open his safe belt and steps out. The cold early autumn night air makes him shiver.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jordan looks seriously baffled. “I’ve heard you can be a piece of work, but Jesus, the Sheriff’s always going on about how you’re actually a good kid…”

“So are you gonna handcuff me or what? Please, I love that shit,” Stiles cuts the lecture off before it can really begin. He offers his wrists on display, and copies a smug smile he’s often seen on Jackson’s face. “Please, officer. I’ve been very bad.” He flutters his flashes.

“Stiles,” Jordan looks scandalized, now, even more so as Stiles wets his lips with just the tip of his tongue.

“What?”

“Stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what, officer?” Stiles asks, making his voice sound out of breath. He feels slightly drunk without having anything to drink, and fuck if he’s not starting to feel a little tight in his pants. Stiles reaches down to feel himself through his jeans, just a little bit, and Jordan follows the motion with his eyes.

“Acting like a fucking whore, that’s what,” Jordan snaps. The crack of his voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

“But it’s not just an act,” Stiles smirks and this he can do, Derek’s off fucking some college bimbos too, why can’t he do the same? “Come on, officer. Surely you’ve heard the rumors…”

“I should have you fucking arrested.” Jordan keeps making all this noise but he’s not moving one single muscle, and just like that Stiles knows he’s got him.

“Yeah, or then you could let me do this, instead,” Stiles slides down to his knees and cups Jordan through his pants. He doesn’t have to fake his delighted gasp one bit. “Such a big dick, officer.”

“Get the fuck up,” Jordan says even as he shuffles to spread his legs wider. Stiles almost laughs – who the hell does he think he’s convincing? “Stiles, you can’t – “

“I want you to fuck me,” Stiles confesses and gets more and more attracted to the idea. “That’s what you want too, isn’t it? To stick that huge monster cock inside my teenager ass?”

“Shut up, Jesus, you’re so fucking dirty,” Jordan groans, and then seems to make up his mind. For a second Stiles is scared he’ll end up in the station as Jordan grabs him by shoulder and drags him up, but then Jordan’s hands are on his jeans and they’re back on track. “Get them off.”

“With pleasure,” Stiles gets rid of the offending piece of garment. Jordan doesn’t hesitate, his hands going straight for his ass, and Stiles frowns at the familiar feeling, yet strange touch. “Wait, I need – lube, it’s in my car – “

“What sort of a cockslut _are_ you?” Jordan looks amazed and Stiles knows he’s gotta work with the momentum.

He reaches for the lube – so he came prepared, so what – and gives it to Jordan. “Finger me,” Stiles begs as he turns around, rests his hands against the hood of his Jeep.

Jordan does a quick job of it, presses his mouth against Stiles’ neck. “Beg for me to fuck you.”

“Please fuck me, sir, please,” his response is immediate. “My hole is ready, it’s for you.”

“Show me,” Jordan asks as he fishes a condom out of god knows where, and really, who is Stiles to deny such a thoughtful man?

He bends over so that his asshole is on clear display. “It’s all for you, officer, it’s so fucking empty, I want your dick in me now, I need it, need your cock inside – _ah_ – “ his begging dissolves into moaning as Jordan pushes the tip inside.

“Keep it open,” Jordan commands as Stiles’ hands waver. “Yeah, fuck. Want me to feed this big horse dick in your cunt?”

“Push it inside me, I wanna feel your cum, I _want_ you.”

Jordan is so fucking into it, too, he cracked so easily and the results are beautiful. “What a whore, spreading your hole for a guy ten years your senior,” he whispers at Stiles’ ear. “You would’ve fucked anybody tonight, wouldn’t you? Pray tell me what would you have done if it was your dad coming out the car? Would you have fucked him too?”

“What? Shut the fuck up.”

“Dreaming of that daddy dick?”

“Jesus, shut _up_ , you asshole.” It’s absolute filth and bordering on the line of uncomfortable for Stiles, who has, in all honesty, jacked off to a lot of morally questionable stuff but talking about his _dad_ is taking it a bit too far for his liking.

Thankfully Jordan seems to get it and backs off. Not physically; if anything the pace of his fucking only picks up, hammering at Stiles’ ass without mercy. “Can’t get enough of cock in that sweet pussy. Is it enough for your cunt? Maybe not, maybe you even want another dick in you.” Jordan laughs at Stiles’ agreeing groan. “Definitely another one for that fuckhole you call a mouth. Wanna get double teamed by big police officers, don’t you. You fucking gang rape whore.”

Stiles mouths at air, is helpless to stop images of Derek fucking his mouth conjuring up in his mind. “Fuck me harder, fuck my brains out, please, make me feel anything,” he pleads as he thinks about Derek fucking the blonde girl in his lap.

“I’m fucking shooting inside you, getting you all wet – I’ll send you back to your dad with my cum dripping down your hole, and he’ll never know what a slut his son is – his _only son_ , who gets fucked by his deputies – fuck, I’m _coming_ – “ Jordan drives in for the last time and spurts inside the condom, inside Stiles. Stiles moves to jerk himself off, finishes and watches with bewildered as his cum drips down the Jeep’s hood.

He ends up smirking at the blushing officer as they both tidy up. “Daddy issues much?” he asks and it’s a freaking battle to keep the blatant amusement out of his voice.

“What the fuck even,” Jordan swallows and looks so shocked to the core Stiles takes pity on him, decides not to tease him any further.

“You tell me,” Stiles shrugs. The silence continues and Stiles is starting to really feel the cold. “So… am I still getting that ticket?”

“Go home,” Jordan snaps. He gets close to Stiles’ face, shaking a finger at him. “Don’t you ever tell about this to your father, you hear me? Not a single word.”

“Are you actually insane? Why would I ever do that?” Stiles asks incredulously.

“Good. Just… good.” Jordan is on his way then, walks a little funny if somebody asked Stiles.

“Have a great evening, officer,” he can’t help but yell after Jordan, and dissolves into snickers as he pretends not to hear. The police vehicle makes a sound U-turn and Stiles gets back in his car all the while wondering what the _hell_ did he just do.

 

 

Stiles lets himself inside the house. It’s nearing midnight, his dad should be sleeping by now, but he can’t be too careful. His head is buzzing, his skin feels like it’s cracking at places, and he’s never felt _quite_ like this; bumping into his dad could only have catastrophic outcomes.

So he sneaks upstairs, past his dad’s room as quiet as possible. Goes to brush his teeth and doesn’t look at himself in the mirror. Even his teeth feel weird. He goes to his room, strips down to nothing and slips under the covers. Goes to check his phone and almost drops it in surprise. He opens WhatsApp and there it is; a message from an hour ago.

**Derek:** _u didn’t come_

Stiles keeps staring at the screen. It’s the first message Derek has ever sent him outside school hours. He snorts, feels like hysteria would be the fitting emotional response. _yea I did_ , he writes back and hits send before he can regret it, turns off the light. The phone bleeps faintly right when Stiles buries his head in his pillow, so he turns his back to it. Falls asleep under a minute.

 

 

He reaches consciousness with a sore throat and groggy brains. His nose is running and Stiles curses at himself for not wearing something more warm yesterday night. Sure it’s a lazy Saturday morning, and maybe he didn’t have crucial plans for the weekend, but he’s never dealt well with being sick. It’s a minor cold, nothing more, he tells himself and checks his phone as an automatic body response to waking up – and stares at the screen.

It all comes rushing back to him. Derek and his girl, Jordan, his body going full autopilot when he came home – shit. No wonder his limbs are sore; it’s not just a cold, he got fucked within an inch of his life only 11 hours ago.

He opens the conversation with slightly trembling fingers. The first message has arrived a mere minute after Stiles had replied to Derek’s inquiry for his whereabouts.

**Derek** _: lmao r u rly having a lame ass got marathon_

And that’s somewhat understandable, right? A regular insult, no big deal. But then there’s a picture sent at freaking 3AM. It’s a blurry shot of Derek holding a tequila bottle next to his head. That’s bizarre enough in itself, but even stranger is the fact that there’s somebody else kissing the side of the bottle – the blonde bombshell.

There’s a text attached to it, a short typo filled request for a response pic, and _why the hell has Derek sent him this?_  Stiles can’t wrap his mind around the concept. His first thought is that surely this is Derek bragging, but why would he even bother? It’s not like Stiles isn’t well aware of his market value, he blows Derek’s 9.5 inch dick on the regular, for Christ’s sake.

This is what an out of body experience must feel like, Stiles muses. He feels like crying and laughing at the same time. Wonders briefly whether it’s too late to have a go at the Joker’s role. Jared Leto did a half assed job anyway.

**Stiles** _: sry passed out from orgasms. looks like u had fun tho! she’s a stunner congrats_

He keeps re-reading his response a million times until he figures there’s not much else he can say. It feels nasty to be talking about the girls’ looks, but like fuck will he put up with Derek’s games. So he wanted to send him a picture of his conquest? Derek can damn well deal with the consequences too.

After pressing send Stiles stretches his limbs and ends up immediately regretting it. Jordan really did a number on him. He winces and yawns at the same time, stomach growling, and almost falls off the bed as his phone chimes.

**Derek** _: sounds awesome. yeah ill make sure to give laura ur regards_

First, Stiles is absolutely amazed at the light speed quick response. Second, he’s so confused. What does Laura have to do with anything?

**Stiles** _: laura? what?_

**Derek** _: that’s erica her gf. they were there last nite told u_

And isn’t that just kick you in the crotch, spit on your neck fantastic.

So… Stiles has just managed to play jealous lover over Derek’s sister’s lesbian flame. Right. No big deal. He can still fix this, can’t he?

He breathes in heavily. A brief situation recap: Derek didn’t fuck somebody else last night, but Stiles did. Nobody knows except Stiles and naturally Jordan, and it will stay that way. No harm done. He can and will play this cool.

**Stiles** _: oh wow. that’s kinda hot ngl_

**Derek** _: that’s my sister ur talking bout_

**Stiles** _: oop sorry dude_

**Derek** _: are u into that?_

Which makes Stiles snort. What sort of teenage guy wouldn’t get a little hot under the collar at the thought of hot lesbians?

**Stiles** _: aren’t u? I mean not ur sister cuz ew but lesbian aesthetics_

**Derek** _: idk. not rly_

Stiles grimaces. For a closeted guy Derek’s always been quite passionate about LGBT rights. Now Stiles knows why.

**Stiles** _: ah yeah. well idk sometimes. in porn yeah_

He thinks he’s reached the appropriate, not quite apological but still respectful tone, but then 30 seconds surpass, a minute, and Derek’s still not responding. Stiles thinks back to all the times he’s heard Derek rant about sexual minorities’ rights. He always figured it was ‘cause he was a closeted gay himself, but apparently Derek’s been raised in the presence of a very woke sister, and now he hates Stiles for objectifying hot lesbians. Great! It’s only 10:30AM, how many times could Stiles fuck himself over before midday?

**Stiles** _: sry if I offended u I didn’t mean 2 talk shit bout ur sister_

**Stiles** _: I rly respect lesbians_

**Stiles** _: r u mad at me_

The last message reeks of desperation but he hasn’t got any shame now. Stiles’ nibbling at his cuticles, a bad habit years old, and is already starting to reach for the Best of Taylor Swift Waah Waah Waah playlist, when Derek answers.

**Derek** _: jesus calm down I was just getting snacks. nah I don’t mind. just maybe don’t talk bout her anymore if u wanna keep gettin laid_

Stiles is truly and well happy there’s nobody to witness his relieved sigh.

**Stiles** _: duly noted. u snacking? what I didn’t know u had anything else but protein shakes_

**Derek** _: its my cheat day so im totally goin 4 it_

**Stiles** _: man this is so wild I cant believe what im reading. whats ur snack?_

And just like that they’re actually having a conversation via text. So they proceed to talk about stupid shallow stuff like movies and snacks, so what? It’s a longer civil exchange of words they’ve ever had before and Stiles is eating it all up with a fucking 2 liter spoon. Never mind his whining hungry stomach or the Game of Thrones marathon; he’s not going anywhere unless Derek is.


	3. all your colors start to burn

 

Just an ordinary Monday lunch, Stiles thinks to himself as he pushes the unrecognizable piece of meat around his plate. It’s complete silence in their table; for once Scott isn’t talking about Allison, and it should be blissful but feels suffocating instead. Stiles would love nothing more than tell Scott about Jordan and texting with Derek, but for some reason he can’t make himself open his mouth.

In fact, Stiles stopped bragging about Derek months ago, back when he realized it wasn’t just sex, or not for him at least. It felt wrong to talk about Derek’s fabulous abs when he was simultaneously falling secretly apart, so he simply didn’t do it anymore. Soon enough Scott stopped asking about Derek and him, and Stiles isn’t still quite sure whether he likes or resents Scott for it.

Stiles is just about to open his mouth, desperate for any sort of conversation whatsoever, when the most unbelievable miracle of all happens: Derek fucking Hale is sitting down in their table.

For a second Stiles thinks he’s hallucinating, but then he looks at Scott who looks just as shocked as he feels, and the worst? It doesn’t end there. Because Derek is followed by some of the most popular kids: Lydia, Isaac, and Stiles should really make sure Scott’s got his inhaler with him because suddenly Allison freaking Argent is vacating the seat next to him.

“Stiles,” Derek greets and it’s like he’s been replaced by a pod person. There’s nothing but a distant coolness in his behavior and Stiles hates it, hates the façade Derek puts on for other people, wants him undressed and moaning.

But whatever, that’s a whole another matter. More pressuring is the fact that nobody knows what the hell is going on and Stiles can pretty much feel everybody in the canteen staring at their table.

“What are you doing?” Stiles barks and it’s a terribly unattractive sound, judging by how Lydia 5.0 GPA Martin purses her lips.

Instead of acknowledging him like a proper human being Derek simply turns his head to Scott. ”McCall,” he nods like this is all normal.

”Hale,” Scott splutters as an answer. _What’s going on here_ , he mouths at Stiles, who is unfortunately just as confused.

Isaac and Lydia begin a heated discussion about the math class they just attended, while Scott is busy shooting shy looks at Allison, who interestingly enough keeps doing the same at him.

Stiles doesn’t bother for shyness. Derek was hella wrong if he thought he could just pull such a stunt without any sort of consequences. “What is this?” he asks and it takes all he’s got to keep his tone civil.

“You had empty space,” Derek says matter-of-factly and turns up his nose at his own piece of meat on the platter.

Stiles is waiting for him to continue, but Derek says nothing. He doesn’t really even do anything; he’s not eating or talking with the others, not answering to any of Stiles’ advances, and Stiles has never wanted to jump him more. So he clears his throat, pokes at Derek’s side as gently as possible. ”You wanna…” he starts quietly, leaves the rest unsaid.

And it’s not like he has to say more; this is _Derek_. “Yeah,” he answers, and finally they’re looking at each other. Derek’s pupils are dilating. “Yeah, let’s go.”

So they do.

 

 

It’s a reconstruction of good old cat and mouse, Derek striding a couple of steps ahead of Stiles, leading them out of the main building to god knows where.

“Not that I’m in any way against getting fucked in the Camaro, but I think this is a little too daylight-ey for my tastes,” Stiles notes as they’re surpassing the parking lot.

“Shut the fuck up,” Derek snaps. He looks like a man with a plan. Stiles finds it incredibly sexy.

“Make me.” His horniness is bleeding through. So he’s got a knack for the ultimate alpha male act Derek sometimes puts up – sue him. Derek turns to give him a glare, no doubt thinking about all the ways he has ever made Stiles shut up, and Stiles can feel himself harden from just the heated look alone.

“Here, c’mon,” Derek takes them to the sports field, and for a second Stiles is completely unimpressed – what’s new with the bleachers, they did it just last week? – but then Derek fishes out his key ring and opens the door to the sports building.

“Captain’s keys, right. Oh my God, yes. This is _awesome_.” Stiles is absolutely buzzing with excitement as Derek leads them all the way down to Coach Finstock’s office.

“I don’t know whether I should be worried about you getting so excited about getting fucked in Coach’s office,” Derek points out as they get comfortable.

“Trust me, this is zero percent Coach, one hundred percent teenage boy fantasy,” Stiles says as he jumps on Coach’s table, spreads his legs wide open. “What are you waiting for?” he pouts as Derek stays put next to the door.

“I wanna try something,” Derek says, his voice a low, sexy rumble which hits Stiles quicker than cocaine. Not that he’s ever actually tried it, but he’s read more than enough of his dad’s reports to know the accuracy of the statement.

“Sure. What is it?” Stiles asks with bravado he doesn’t quite possess, but it’s not like he could resist Derek, so why pretend?

“Get off the table,” Derek commands, and now they’re talking. “Pants down. Get your dick out.”

“You just gonna stand there?” Stiles is so easy, he’s panting. He releases his already straining dick and wraps a palm around himself, and then grows immensely suspicious when Derek reaches for his phone and turns it on Stiles. “What are you doing?”

“You didn’t send me a picture on Friday even though I asked.”

“So?”

“So I didn’t have anything to jerk off to. Don’t want that to happen again, do we? Come on. Give me a show, babe.”

If Derek’s sexy voice is cocaine to Stiles, then the pet name is like heroin on multiple steroids. “Could’ve asked me first,” Stiles mutters, cocking his head, suddenly _shy_ , what the hell. “What do you want me to do?”

“Get your shirt off.”

“You don’t want to see that.” Stiles lets out a self-deprecating laugh. It’s not that he thinks he’s hideous under the clothes or anything; he’s just so used to being all about Derek’s pleasure that this feels unsettling.

“You really don’t wanna make me ask twice,” Derek says softly. “Palm yourself,” he directs next. “C’mon. Show me how you fuck yourself.”

“Would be better with you doing it.”

“I know you’re needy. Yeah, make that dick spit. C’mon, taste it,” Derek keeps the camera zeroed in on Stiles. “So fucking dirty,” he laughs throatily as Stiles licks at his own precum. “Let me see how you play with that ass.”

“I don’t – there’s no lube,” Stiles looks around as if he’s forgotten where he is.

“Use spit, then,” Derek doesn’t really care for excuses right now. It fills Stiles with a sudden surge of confidence when Derek reaches to adjust himself in his jeans; makes him want to make this good, not just passable.

So he swallows his fingers, wets them with spit for Derek’s great approval. “Turn around, no need to be shy. Show your sweet boy pussy to the camera. Yeah, that’s it. Good boy.”

“Like this?”

“Spread it wider,” Derek commands. Stiles is already drooling right to Coach’s table, but fuck how he couldn’t care any less. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. Look at that. Your hole is so hungry for it.”

“For you,” Stiles manages as he’s spreading his cheeks. It feels weird to be on such display, with Derek having no physical participation.

“I know. I just don’t wanna fuck you right now,” Derek says. “Finger it, come on. Give your poor hole what it wants.”

“How many?”

“Well, I’m not really into fisting,” Derek clicks his tongue. “Good boy. Fuck your hand. Make yourself shoot.”

Stiles goes to town like nobody’s business. It’s an awkward angle and he won’t use more than two fingers considering there’s no lubrication, but it seems to be enough for Derek. “This is so fucking hot. I’m gonna show this to all my friends, let them see what a needy little bitch I’ve got, following my every command. Hungry little asshole desperate for my cock.”

“’m close,” Stiles preens at Derek’s praise, at the thought of being something Derek could be proud of.

“Already? Well, fine. Make that pussy happy, go on, I know how much you need it.” And Stiles is coming before the words are even out of Derek’s mouth.

It takes a while to come to his senses after something like that, but Stiles knows he’s still got a job to do. ”That was… new,” he comments as he’s reaching for his clothes.

”Yeah.” Derek’s attention is completely on his phone, and a shadow of doubt crosses Stiles’ mind.

”Hey, look,” he starts as he’s pulling his shirt back on. ”You’re not actually gonna show it to anybody, are you?”

“And explain how I got it? No thanks,” Derek says off-handedly, but then he notices Stiles’ unsure look. “I wouldn’t do that to you. It’s just for me.”

For some godforsaken reason Stiles blushes at the honest, serious expression on Derek’s face. So he does his best to hide it and takes a step forward. “You didn’t get off yet,” he reaches for his seductive!Stiles personality. It’s not like him to forget his responsibilities.

But Derek only waves a hand in dismissal. “And I fully expect you to make it up to me next time,” he says and it’s a damn near thing Stiles’ jaw doesn’t drop to the ground.

“Can’t wait,” he screeches. This is the first time he’s gotten off and Derek hasn’t. The opposite has happened countless of times, but never this way around.

Derek pockets his phone and Stiles is playing with the hem of his own shirt, not willing to be the first to break silence. “There’s a little – “ Derek gestures at the side of Stiles’ jaw.

“What?” Stiles breathes and gets it: he must be wearing his own cum as aftershave. How seductive, shoot him now. “Oh - did I get it?” he laughs after scrubbing at the spot. It’s not a sexy laugh either, rather nervous and giggly, and really, what the fuck is _wrong_ with him? This is only Derek, for god’s sake – but then again, there’s never been anything _only_ about Derek, has there?

And he hadn’t noticed how close they were standing, almost toe-to-toe, until Derek closes in on him. “Let me,” he says and raises his hand to Stiles’ face.

The simple touch shouldn’t feel more intimate than all the filth they just committed, but it does. “That’s better,” Derek says and he’s almost kissing Stiles, that’s how close they are. Stiles’ _toes_ are tingling, he can feel a certain something in the air, something terrible yet lovely – like the air is shifting between them, and suddenly he feels very lightheaded – what is the color of Derek’s eyes _anyway_?

Derek takes a deep breath and the magic is not gone rather than interrupted, leaving Stiles dizzy, and it’s a freaking miracle he manages to stay upright.

“We should go,” Derek says, and he looks so unlike himself, unsettled and swallowing.

“Yeah,” Stiles nods and takes a step backward. It’s certain he can’t push for too much, not when he’s so close already. He’ll take what he can, and he’ll have to tread carefully, but if Derek Hale isn’t worth a slow wooing, then who is?

“Text you later?” Derek’s mouth twitches funnily, and Stiles nods in response.

“Sure. Bye,” he says and makes his smile as warm as he can. “I better go first.” It’s a flimsy excuse but Derek looks relieved for it, so Stiles heads for the door.

“Bye, Stiles.”

And fuck if it doesn’t feel like a small victory to feel Derek’s eyes following him all the way down the corridor until he’s out of sight. 


	4. all this talk is closing you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just keeps expanding but I'm all settled now, six chapters it is. End is near! But first - here, have some angst.

The next morning Stiles is just closing his locker when he’s pushed into it head first with a loud crack. “What the fuck?” he cries as he turns around to a sneering Jackson.

Stiles hasn’t been physically bullied in months, which suspiciously links back to when he and Derek started getting it on, not that he’s trying to suggest anything – so this feels right out of the blue. Even more so when he sees Derek is watching the scene from a little further, face neutral and arms crossed.

”Hey, Stilinski,” Jackson drawls the vocals like the utter douchebag he is. ”Sucked a police officer off today?”

Stiles knows what being sucker punched feels like. This is ten times worse.

“Shit, man. I always knew you were a little bitch but I didn’t think you’d start selling yourself for speeding tickets.” There’s a whole new kind of nastiness to Jackson’s voice. Sure he’s tortured Stiles since elementary school, but it’s never been quite like this. He doesn’t even bother keeping his voice down, of course not, he loves having an audience and looks like he’s getting it, too, everybody sparking interest in the scene they’re causing. 

“What’s the matter, not enough cock in your mouth? You know what, I really don’t get it. Jesus, if I were your dad I’d fucking shoot you in your sleep,” Jackson shakes his head.

Stiles jerks to life with a raspy voice. “Don’t you even mention my dad.” He doesn’t know how to address any of the else, feels feverish, surely this must be a bad dream and he’ll wake up any second now -

“Makes one wonder whether it was really an accident that took your mom.”

Gasps from their crowd. Stiles’ ears are ringing. “The fuck did you say?” he croaks, fists curling up. He wants to rip Jackson’s throat off with his blunt human teeth.

It must be showing, too, for suddenly there’s a warm presence at his side. “That’s enough,” Derek barks at Jackson and Stiles can’t believe he’s come to his rescue, this is all so public but it’s happening, and even though one part of him is absolutely _raging_ the part of him which always responds to Derek is feeling quite other things.

“It’s just Stilinski,” Jackson’s unfriendly smile alters the slightest bit at the interruption.

“That was a low fucking blow and you know it.”

Stiles gives Derek a sharp look which goes ignored. It’s very sweet of Derek to come to his aid now, after years of watching from sidelines him being bullied, but it’s better late than never, right? “No, come on, let him finish.“ Stiles is feeling weirdly confident, like it’s just him and Derek against the world. They can start with Jackson.

The confidence however disappears as quickly as it came. “And _you’re_ not doing anything,” Derek says and pushes a burning hand against Stiles’ chest. The only problem is Derek is 170 pounds pure muscle while Stiles is not, so he ends up slamming Stiles against his locker with a crash.

“Lemme go,” Stiles struggles against the hold, and finally Derek is looking at him. The fight leaves Stiles body, is replaced with dread.

There’s not one thing even resembling warmth in Derek’s eyes.

“Or what?” Derek asks as he pushes harder, and sure Derek has pushed him against many a surfaces before, but this touch feels like it’s meant to harm. It’s still nothing as bad as the next two words Derek says with a sneer: “Fucking slut.”

Stiles doesn’t even stop to think about it, simply punches him square in the face.

And it’s probably more thanks to the element of surprise than Stiles’ fighting skills but Derek goes down, covers his nose with his hand.

Everybody looks shocked, or that’s what Stiles imagines. He can’t actually be bothered to look, can’t do anything except stare at Derek who brings his hand down and it’s stained with blood. For a couple of seconds Stiles is absolutely still, can’t believe he just did that, is about to spray a fountain of apologies upon Derek. The sentiment doesn’t last long, though. Derek is on his feet quick as some sort of jungle cat, closes their distance in one huge step, grabs at Stiles’ collar and punches him straight back.

“Fight! Fight!” everybody around them erupts into a chant as they both go down this time, and it’s Derek practically trying to strangle Stiles, Stiles kicking at him. He doesn’t even really care where he’s aiming as long as he hits something.

It’s ugly just like their relationship so far. A perfectly fitting ending to Stiles’ fantasies of them. He’s forgotten all about Jackson, bitterness flowing through his veins, and so’s Derek: this is personal, they’re going for nothing less than blood.

Derek manages to hit him in the corner of his eye and Stiles feels a burst of _something_ in his eyeball, Jesus, as a furious shout carries across the hall. “What the hell is going on here?” Coach Finstock is parting his way amongst the students. “Mr. Hale, Mr. Stilinski,” he calls out. “Separate! _Now_!”

When neither of them does anything to comply, Finstock points at the guys nearest them. “You! Whittemore, Lahey – separate them.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said, do it now or I’m kicking each one of you out of the team.”

And even though both Jackson and Isaac look like they would rather burn their own fingers with a blowtorch than interrupt such an enjoyable show, they do get in middle of Derek and Stiles. Jackson grabs at Derek’s collar, drags him further as Isaac does the same to Stiles, both of them flailing to no success.

“What on Earth are you two _doing_? No, never mind, I don’t want to hear it – detention. Today. Two hours, at four o’clock sharp,” Coach commands with what little authority he thinks he possesses.

“Fine,” Derek spits and swats at Jackson to get away from him. It’s like he’s deflating in his rage, looking at the ground with a dejected curl of lips, and Stiles is fuming, what right does _Derek_ have to look _sad_?

“Fuck you,” he says and doesn’t really even know who he’s aiming it to. He doesn’t want to let go of his anger, he simply can’t or he’ll break, just dissolve into pieces.

“Let’s make that three hours, shall we,” Coach snaps. “Alright, everybody scatter up! Nothing to see here! Jesus fuck, teenage hormones,” he mutters as he’s shooing at the crowd. Everybody looks disappointed but then again this will make up a total of week’s gossip, so it’s totally been worth it.

“C’mon, Derek.” Jackson tries to help pull him up, but Derek abandons the gesture, gets up by himself and he’s gone in a flash, pushing people out of his way, usually handsome face twisted into something monstrous.

Jackson fixes a look at Stiles. “Cocksucker,” he pronounces clearly and then he and his posse are gone, too, disappearing after Derek.

Stiles stays on the ground. Nobody makes a move to approach him. He’s completely on his own, where the _fuck_ is Scott – but then again what difference it would make? This is how it was always going to end: him, alone, Derek finally getting rid of him.

 

 

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Stiles is compensating whether he should do a rendition of Kesha’s hit just to accompany the quiet ticking of the wall clock but decides against it; he’s got a much more important matter at hand than his mind slowly spiraling into madness.

It’s been exactly five minutes since Coach Finstock left him and Derek in the classroom. He’d given a heated speech about not wanting to see any sort of mess after he comes back or they’re both fired, and Stiles had to bite his tongue to say that this is meant to be detention, Coach shouldn’t be leaving the room in the first place, and that students can’t be fired, it’s called expulsion, you fucking cockroach.

But he didn’t do it, had kept his calm because now he gets to be alone with Derek, and boy isn’t that what he’s been dreading but also secretly wishing for the whole day?

As it is, they’re sitting in complete silence except for the irritating clock, and Stiles refuses to be the coward here. “Derek,” he says quietly. Looks at his handsome profile, the completely unnecessary biceps and thinks he’d give anything to have him. No amount of fighting could ever change that.

Derek doesn’t however even twitch at the sound, so he tries again, this time a little louder. “Derek.”

“What could you possibly want from me?” Derek says then, and Stiles is so surprised he doesn’t even sound angry, just quiet and patient, and it’s doing things to him, being talked to respectfully by Derek.

How fucked up _is_ he?

“It’s not broken, is it?” Stiles makes a half-assed gesture towards Derek’s nose which looks bruised, but at least it isn’t bleeding anymore.

“Just swollen,” Derek shakes his head. Then: “Good left hook,” like he’s totally impressed but doesn’t want to say so, and this is it, they’re officially in bizarro zone. Maybe Stiles should have punched Derek ages ago, make him realize he’s got some teeth too.

“Thanks, my dad taught me,” is what Stiles says and feels helpless looking at Derek, Derek who is unnaturally quiet. It’s not like he’s usually a chatterbox except for when he’s fucking Stiles, but this looks like forced stillness and it’s so weird that Stiles could have caused this. “I don’t – what’s going on here?” he asks for aid after checking the distance between them, he’ll have plenty of time to move if Derek decides to suddenly lunge at him.

“You tell me.”

“I have no idea what I’m supposed to tell you.”

Which makes Derek finally turn to look at him. “Really? So you didn’t let Isaac Lahey's adoptive big brother fuck you?” is what he says and it’s almost enough to make Stiles sob, why the hell are they talking about this when they could be doing so much better things with their mouths?

“How do you know?” Stiles asks and it’s exactly the wrong question judging by Derek’s expression.

“How could I not? Apparently fucking everybody knows. Shit, I was probably the last to hear.”

“Right, okay,” Stiles nods and he’s just fishing for something, anything, he can’t read Derek at _all_. “You – and you’re… mad.”

Derek doesn’t admit but doesn’t deny it either, and Stiles is about to tentatively ask whether he wants to talk about it, when Derek finally volunteers some words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a… that.”

And it’s mind boggling, Derek has never been sorry about calling Stiles a slut before, but now he looks serious and all and Stiles just wants him to feel better. “It’s okay, none offense taken,” he hurries to say. “I know you didn’t mean it, I mean, usually you do but not this time. It’s forgotten, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek says but he still looks miserable.

Stiles doesn’t owe any sort of explanation, but he wants to give one, wants so much for Derek to understand he never meant for any of this to happen. “I didn’t – it wasn’t. I didn’t plan on it or anything. With… him,” he hurries to say. He’s not even quite sure what sort of response he’s expecting, but Derek says nothing, barely nods and even doing that looks like a stretch.

A minute goes by in complete silence and Stiles would rather be fighting with Derek than do this. He’s never been good at being ignored, doesn’t intend on starting now. “How’s your sister?” he asks in what he thinks at least resembles a chipper tone.

“Why, wanna have a go at her, too?” Derek’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

And it’s so _unfair_ Stiles’ mouth drops open. “What the fuck are you even doing here, Derek?”

“Being detentioned ‘cause you _punched_ me, hello…?”

“No, I mean – why are you being so fucking mean?”

“I said sorry, didn’t I? What else do you want?”

Fuck, Stiles won’t get anywhere with this sort of approach, not when Derek is bristling at the slightest of challenge, so he hurries to change his tactic. “I was just – I was wondering whether, you know. I was intrigued about meeting Laura.”

“Okay.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. “So, I’m just… I don’t really know. I don’t know if you’d like to…”

“What?”

“Hang out or something.”

Derek blinks. “With you,” he says slowly.

“Nobody else here, right?” Stiles tries for a smile. He can’t control his face though, why the _fuck_ is the corner of his mouth spasming?

“Stiles.”

Stiles is a dog with a bone, he knows he should quit but it’s in his nature to be humiliated as much as possible. “It doesn’t have to be anything special. We could just… I don’t know. Do movies or something.” It’s not too much to ask; surely Derek could endure his company for two hours, right?

“I don’t think we should do that,” is what Derek says, looking at anywhere but Stiles, and it’s not even cute anymore, the low tone of Derek’s voice, it’s just horrible and Stiles takes a deep breath.

_It won’t do me any good if I explode now, Derek will hate me even more, I should just be a good boy and drop it_ , Stiles reminds himself, but his mouth has apparently decided it doesn’t want to be _good_ anymore.

“And _why_ is it such a horrible thought to be seen with me?” he hears himself asking, and it’s such a weird tone, he’s all calm and composed when he feels anything but. “The whole freaking school already knows you fuck me after practice. I mean, since this is honesty hour and everything – it’s about time you came out of that closet of yours,” Stiles says. There, he said it, all his cards are on table and he’s playing for keeps. God it feels wonderful to be honest, if he’d known it felt like this he would’ve done it a lot -

“It’s not that you’re a guy,” Derek then patiently explains. “It’s that you’re you.”

never, he should’ve done this exactly _never_.

“What do you mean?” Stiles’ mouth is going dry.

“Stiles.” The worst part is how Derek’s so nice about this, even though Stiles’ heart is breaking. “You are aware you have a reputation, right?”

“Yeah. So?” He’s not playing dumb anymore, he simply doesn’t understand.

“So you can’t really expect I’d want to…” and suddenly Derek _looks_ at Stiles. Stiles wonders what he sees, and as Derek’s expression goes soft and pitiful, he really doesn’t want to know at all.

He gets it now. Finally he does.

“I didn’t think you’d care about that stuff.” Stiles is desperately trying to remember how he usually breathes. Surely it shouldn’t be this much of an effort.  “I mean. I thought we – that maybe you could’ve…”

“I’m sorry”, Derek says, his voice a quiet sentence of death.

“Okay.”

“It’s just that I don’t – “

“I don’t wanna hear it.” Stiles thinks he can taste blood in his mouth, even though it makes zero sense. And that’s not right, it shouldn’t hurt this much, he’d known all along he was just a fuck to Derek, but it’s torturing to hear it so bluntly in the open.

Well, they might not be going on any dates any time soon, but that doesn’t stop them from getting laid, right? They’ve still got plenty of time before the detention is over, and what better way to pass it…

He gets up and starts walking toward Derek, pitifully happy when his gaze snaps immediately to him. No matter what they’ll always have this, and maybe it’s not exactly what Stiles wants, but it’s still _something_.

Derek doesn’t even move when Stiles sinks down to his knees and settles between Derek’s legs. “What are you doing?” he asks and he sounds so tired and beaten, Stiles is determined with the idea of making him feel better.

“Don’t try to tell me you’ve never entertained the idea of detention sex.” He moves his hands to Derek’s belt buckle, but Derek he’s shaking his head in denial. For a second Stiles is scared out of his mind that Derek will tell him no, that he doesn’t get to have this anymore, but Derek just pulls him to his lap instead.

And yeah, it’s a good place to be. He wriggles to get more comfortable and almost cries out of relief when he feels Derek’s dick give an interested twitch against his ass.

Derek doesn’t waste any time, simply opens Stiles’ jeans and pushes his hand inside, doesn’t have to grope around for long before he finds Stiles’ cock, already hard. Stiles is about to do the same to Derek, only to be stopped.

“No, like this,” Derek says and it’s a low, soothing voice. “Just like this. I want to watch you when I make you come.”

“Please, yes.”

“Don’t you fucking dare close your eyes, look at me. I want you to look at me when I get you off, I want you to know it’s me doing this to you. Can you do that for me, Stiles? Can you be a good boy for me?” Derek is gripping at his jaw tight enough to hurt and it almost makes Stiles shoot there and then.

“Yeah, I’d do anything for you.” Maybe it’s a tad too honest but he can’t really bring himself to care.

“I know that. You can’t help yourself, you just love cock too much. That’s why you got bred by a police, isn’t it? I’m just surprised he didn’t catch you fucking yourself on a gearstick.” And it’s _mean_ , the tight curl of Derek’s lips, the too dry and slow slide of his hand on Stiles’ dick, but Stiles grits his teeth. He’ll take anything Derek wants to give him.

“Would you do that for me, babe? Let me watch when you got fucked by my Camaro? I mean, shit, if he got to watch you like that, I can’t figure why you wouldn’t let me.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t do that for him,” Stiles pants.

Which earns him a slap on his cheek. It’s a sharp sting, not designed to hurt as much as shock, which it really does. “Don’t lie to me,” Derek snarls. “Did he fuck you good and hard, huh? Is his cock better than mine?” He looks furious, keeps staring at Stiles like he wants to coerce something out of him, but Stiles doesn’t know what else he could give.

“No, yours is bigger,” Stiles answers immediately, knowing that’s what Derek wants to hear. “Derek,” he swallows, he’s close to coming but he’s not nearly as ecstatic as he should be, considering this is Derek giving him a handjob. “Derek, I’m so sorry – “

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear you talk,” Derek snaps and it’s probably the cruelest thing he’s ever said to Stiles. “You can come now.” And it’s said in such a disinterested tone, like he doesn’t give a shit about the boy writhing in his lap that Stiles almost doesn’t.

If he had any ounce of self-respect he’d stop this now but then again – _this is probably my last time with him_ , is what Stiles realizes so he’ll take what he can, comes on Derek’s hand just like asked but it’s an empty orgasm, doesn’t feel like a relief or reward like usually.

Stiles doesn’t waste any time, moves in to undress Derek, but gets a stern stop to his actions. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Derek says and the way he says it – he’s never spoken to Stiles like this, like he’s something breakable.

“Oh.” Stiles can’t do nothing but blink.

“Yeah.”

“So you don’t want me to…”

Derek closes Stiles’ zipper. He isn’t looking at him anymore. “Harris will come back any minute.”

They both know he won’t, Harris only ever shows up at the last minute of detention. But the message is loud and clear: I don’t want you anymore.

So Stiles gets up so quickly he almost falls down, feeling humiliated and it’s not a sexy feeling anymore. “Right,” he says, “right, of course he will. Sorry. Thanks for the, uh. You know.”

Derek turns back to stare at the wall or whatever the hell he ever does and Stiles is back regretting he ever thought he could be good enough.


	5. wanna find love or something more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le Big Showdown. Everything is happening so much and fast.

Finally Harris comes to free them from their silence, and Derek gets out of the classroom as fast as humanly possible without actually running. Stiles is dragging his feet behind him, hands firmly in the pockets of his hoodie, just turning to the parking lot when a sharp call strikes through the air from the direction of the library.

”Stilinski! Wait.”

Stiles wonders what the actual hell could Lydia possibly want from him right now. Maybe she’s come to finish Jackson’s mission, whatever that is. However, he is so not in the mood for this and is not afraid to let it be known. ”Fuck off.”

”How eloquent,” Lydia deems as she catches up to him. ”Look, I wanted to - are you _crying_?”

Stiles wipes at his eyes in haste. “Which part of fuck off do you not understand?”

“What’s going on with you?”

“Like you care.”

It only makes Lydia scoff. “I don’t essentially care about you, but I am somewhat fond of Derek, at times, and… oh for the love of God, stop sniffling, it's distracting. Seriously, why all the tears?” she asks and she’s both bewildered and a little annoyed, and really, how do these people _live_? Are all the popular kids in Beacon High robots with no actual human feelings at all? If they were cut open, would they even bleed? And more importantly, where can Stiles sign up?

“No fucking reason at all. I don’t have a heart or feelings, I’ve just got a needy little dick and that’s all. Fuck this _shit_.” Stiles is so done, he doesn’t even care that he’s cussing like a sailor in front of a lady. Who is possibly a lady cyborg, after all. Gentleman courtesies are not necessary here.

“Way too much information. This is about Derek, isn’t it?”

“When is everything not about Derek fucking Hale,” Stiles mutters and he should really just shut up and run to his Jeep before he lets everything out, it’s embarrassing that he’s opening up to Lydia Martin of all people, but he can’t deny it – it feels good to complain about Derek to somebody else than his own hand.

“What’s going on with you two, exactly?” Lydia ignores all of his hostility.

“Ask Jackson, he knows everything these days.”

“Jackson doesn’t understand many things, like when to keep his mouth shut,” Lydia sighs. “You do realize it was supposed to be just a piece of gossip, right? Isaac feels really bad that he told Jackson, and I know that – “

“Don’t you even try to do this. There’s nothing you can say to make it sound better. This is pure insanity – Jordan told me himself to keep my mouth shut, and suddenly he’s telling about it to everyone? What the fuck did he think would happen?” Stiles feels hot with fury, and not at all in a sexy way. Now that everything with Derek has gone to shit, he’s out looking for someone to blame, and it isn’t hard to guess who he’s pointing at.

“I spoke with Isaac, and it wasn’t like Jordan had been bragging or anything like that at all. He’d just asked about you, and Isaac had guessed the nature of his interest, and, well. The story got out to Jackson, and you know how it is.”

“How can you stand fucking him?” Stiles mutters. “He’s a fucking scumbag, and it’s not like I’m overly affectionate of you either, but at least you’ve got half a brain.”

“He’s got his redeeming qualities,” Lydia explains stiffly. Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever get to hear about those, though. “I told Jackson to shut up from now on, if not for you, then at least for Deputy Parrish' job.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting? Aren't you just the friendly neighborhood Florence Nightingale.”

“At least your father won’t know.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Stiles is suspicious, for a good reason too - he hasn’t ever had an actual conversation with Lydia, and this has a smell of ‘conniving plot made with Jackson’ all over it.

“If this is your definition of nice…” Lydia sighs sadly. “I know how it feels to be stuck in a role, okay? Don’t expect much more sympathy from me, but I thought this I could do. I may be a bitch but I’m not a cruel one.” She looks at Stiles strictly in the eye and pronounces the words very clearly. “Do you really like him?”

“Who?” Stiles tries snidely but it’s just not there, the biting tone he’s going for. He’s doesn’t want to fight anymore. “I just wanna be loved by him. That’s all.” And he hates how small his own voice is, hates how Derek can have this effect on him when Derek doesn’t probably think about him at all in return.

Stiles is expecting a 15 bullet points lecture as of why that’s a pitiful thing, but Lydia just tosses her magnificent mane of hair over her shoulder. “I’m having a party on Friday.”

Stiles doesn’t know if he’s supposed to congratulate her for that or what, so he settles for a nonchalant answer. “Good for you.”

“Derek will be there.”

That actually hurts a bit, but Stiles has trained himself not to be bitter over party invitations a long time ago. “Good for him too.”

“You’re invited.”

Well, that’s a first. “Why? To get even more ridiculed by Jackson? Thanks, but I’ll pass.” It’s a stupid suggestion, Stiles can’t believe Lydia thinks he would fall for it.

“I’ll make sure he won’t even glance at you,” Lydia says and she sounds so honest it makes Stiles fidget a bit. Her eyes are searching and unrelenting; she’s clearly a woman on a mission and fuck if all of this doesn’t make Stiles a little bit curious. “Seriously. Just come. You’ll get a chance to talk to Derek, and honestly? I think it’ll be good for you both.”

“The last thing he wants to do with me is have a talk about our feelings,” Stiles tries to plead for the last time but he can already feel his resistance crumbling.

And it’s the combo of Lydia’s rare soft smile and tone which seals the whole thing. “I think you could be really surprised,” she says. “Don’t make me beg.”

“Whatever,” Stiles grumbles but he thinks Lydia can see he’s pretty much already made his decision.

“Thank you, Stiles,” she gets up on her toes and out of all things, presses a very slight kiss to Stiles’ cheek before flashing a sweet smile and heading to her car. Stiles gapes after her like a fucking fish and wonders when will he ever get a break.

 

 

The rest of the week passes by as if his body is in autopilot. He thinks Derek is probably purposely avoiding him because they haven’t crossed paths at school even once, and Stiles skipped lacrosse training of his own volition, not really eager to face Jackson and the rest. But strangely enough Jackson has left him alone, too, of which the honor probably goes to Lydia.

He refuses to talk to Scott, who’s busy with Allison anyway – apparently the two of them have finally recognized the mutual attraction and they’re going on a date on Friday – which is just perfect. Because it means that currently Stiles is getting ready for Lydia’s party but he’s got absolutely no-one to go there with. He’ll be facing the dragon all by himself and if this whole evening isn’t a fabulous concept for disaster, then what is?

 

 

It causes a quite a scandal, his entrance, because of course it does. It’s not exactly a movie moment where everybody falls quiet and somebody drops a glass, but it’s not too far from that either. Stiles meets Lydia’s eyes from across the room. She only nods slightly, but Stiles doesn’t care; he wants to get drunk.

So he makes a beeline for the fridge and fixes himself a couple of shots which he downs in rapid succession. It doesn’t take but a few minutes and he’s starting to warm up from the inside, not so full of nervous energy anymore.

It feels fucking nice, actually, and for once Stiles gets it, why everybody likes house parties so much. He’s usually only gotten drunk with Scott on his dad’s expensive liquors out in the woods, but this is different. The thrumming music, everybody chattering and laughing, the hormones in the air, alcohol in veins – it’s enough to make Stiles feel horny.

He makes himself a drink which is 20 % juice and the rest is vodka, which makes him happy and satisfied and ready.

Stiles didn’t come here to have fun. It’s time.

He searches through the entire fucking house, which is not a slight task either – the Martin house is more like a freaking mansion – and he drinks more and more, until he finally stumbles into one of the rooms upstairs and almost drops his glass from shock.

Derek looks as good as ever, but what the fuck is he doing, sitting alone in Lydia’s parent’s bed, swinging a red cup around in his hands? Shouldn’t he be fucking a cheerleader or whatever it is guys do in parties?

They stare at each other in surprise until Stiles finally finds his manners. “Hi.”

Derek raises his brows. “I thought you didn’t like hanging out with the popular kids.”

“How would I know, this is the first time I’m invited,” Stiles confesses and closes the door behind him. “Are you having fun?”

“Does it look like I am?”

Derek doesn’t look quite amused, but he’s definitely not irritated either, so that’s a huge win in Stiles’ books. “I could make you smile,” he suggests coyly and fuck, wasn’t he meant to be all cool and non-flirty tonight?

He’d had a plan, they would talk and Stiles would apologize for whatever he’s done to hurt Derek’s feelings and then get out. It was a great one too until he actually saw Derek. He can’t help it, Derek just has that effect on him.

“You could,” Derek admits. He looks warily as Stiles makes his way to him, drawn in like a magnet. “How drunk are you?” he asks as Stiles comes to sit not as much next to him, rather sprawled on top of him.

“Extremely.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles groans, can’t contain himself, he just can’t, he needs to get to Derek’s skin like yesterday. It’s been way too long since they’ve last fucked and it’s way too much for him, he needs his fill and he’ll take it too.

He presses kisses to Derek’s jaw, slips a hand under his shirt to feel at his abs, and Derek opens his legs just a bit, just enough. “Yeah, just like that,” Stiles hums encouragingly. He’s won this round, maybe he’ll get to at least blow Derek before they’ll have The Talk, before Derek disappears completely from his life.

Derek pulls a little from the contact, but not like he’s about to leave, just so he can look at Stiles. “Do you really want me?” he asks, and what sort of a question is _that_?

“Only you,” Stiles says and that’s the password – Derek grabs him and flips them on the bed so he’s crushing Stiles under himself, pressing their dicks together and it’s exactly what Stiles has been needing.

He lets Derek mouth at his neck and grind against him, and it’s so rough and needy, just how Stiles likes it. He can’t stop babbling. “You feel so good,” as Derek works his hips just right. “Been so long, you gotta fill me up again,” when Derek pushes his shirt up. And: “Yeah, fuck me like you hate me,” when Derek works a hickey on his collarbone.

And Stiles doesn’t get at all what’s happening when Derek’s suddenly pulling away from him, shooting daggers with his eyes. “What the hell, Stiles,” Derek says, and he’s so hot when he’s angry. “You can’t just use me like this, it’s not fucking cool.”

“I’m the one using you. _Right_.” Stiles stares hard at Derek, feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fuck you! You keep pulling my chain, and I don’t – what did I do wrong? I mean, except for the _obvious_ – what did I _do_?”

“Nothing, it’s not – it’s not you, it’s – “

“If you tell me it’s not me it’s you I’ll kill you, I swear to fucking God I will kill you _dead_ , Derek Hale,” Stiles says and he means it too, he’s surprised he hasn’t bodily checked Derek yet.

“I can’t keep doing this. Thought I could but I can’t.” And now Derek’s burying his head in his hands and it’s so weird to see this sort of emoting from him, but hey at least they’re talking, so Stiles isn’t really about to express that thought out loud.

“Doing what?” he asks instead and tries to sound calm and gentle even though he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

“It was okay when I didn’t really _know_ , I had it under _control_ , but then with that – that fucking _officer_ , and it doesn’t… I didn’t mind all your sidefucks when they were a thing we didn’t talk about, but then… fuck, I’m sorry, I’m just – I can’t, Stiles,” Derek rambles and it’s insane, does he think he’s making any sort of sense?

“Sidefucks? What sidefucks?”

Derek sighs. “I don’t want to have this conversation anymore,” he announces suddenly and tries to get up, but Stiles pushes him back firmly.

“That’s too bad, cause I really do,” he says alarmed. “What sidefucks could you possibly mean?”

“What the hell do you think I mean? All the others, and… yeah.”

“Yeah, okay, _no_. Who _are_ these mysterious others you’re referencing to?”

“Oh, please – you’re…” and Derek doesn’t finish the sentence, just waves his hand in a gesture that probably means something to him, but Stiles wants actual _words_ this time. “Come on, Stiles. Everybody knows.”

“Knows what?” he presses.

And so Derek gives. “You really want me to say it out loud? _Fine_ ,” he takes a huge breath and steels himself, spine snapping into an upright position, face gaining a structure of steel. “I know you’ve fucked practically everybody. And I also know it’s not any of my business, but I just _can’t_ anymore.” The words come out as if practiced, like they make complete sense in their truthfulness, but Stiles is simply lost.

“Who are you talking about? Who exactly have I fucked?” he asks. Derek only shrugs in answer, but that’s not good enough anymore. “Names, Derek. Who?”

“Well, there’s… me, and… that fucking piece of shit… and…” Derek’s face is all pinched up, like he’s digging frantically through his memory and is coming up with nothing, which is just -

“Yeah.”

Stiles doesn’t have anything else to say.

“What do you mean, yeah?” Derek asks all confused and he’s looking very annoyed right now, he’s always been very bad with situations he doesn’t have complete control over and boy, is he _so_  losing this one.

“I don’t know, what do you mean I’ve fucked everyone?” Stiles shoots back and Derek opens his mouth, but then the most curious thing happens – he snaps it shut and seems to actually think about something really hard and long.

It takes a few moments and then a look of actual, pure horror spreads on his face, so unfamiliar an expression Stiles would like to touch it just to know it’s real. “But… no.” Derek says unsurely. “Then… you never _said_ anything.”

“Said what when?”

“I called you a slut! I did it so fucking many times, and you never denied it!”

And now they’re yelling, great. “Like that means _anything_! Look, I know I get off on weird shit. Like… humiliation. And name calling. That’s a thing. But it doesn’t mean… you… you were my first, you know that, right?” Stiles asks and it’s been so obvious to him all the time, surely Derek must’ve known he was a virgin when they started their thing. Only apparently it _wasn’t_ , judging by how Derek looks absolutely stunned by the words.

“What?” he asks and it’s the first time Stiles has seen Derek’s jaw drop open in non-sexy relations.

“Or maybe you didn’t. Okay, well…”

“The fuck do you mean, I was your first?”

“You heard me.”

“That doesn’t make any – you’re lying.” Derek’s shaking his head manically. Frankly, he looks like somebody’s punched him and Stiles doesn’t know whether the strange feeling in his gut is hope or annoyance.

“I never fucked anybody else in our school; I’ve never _kissed_ anybody but you. What the _fuck_ , Derek.”

And that’s now definitely a hopeful look on Derek’s face. “So… did you… does that mean you and Deputy Parrish didn’t…?” he stumbles over his words, so unlike Derek it makes Stiles’ heart clench.

“Oh, no,” he grimaces. “I… yeah, we did. But I didn’t – it was just, I saw you with Erica and I thought she was your girlfriend, and I didn’t know, I was so angry, so that… kind of happened.” Stiles can’t help his river of words, he wants to be honest with Derek for once in his life, no matter how embarrassing or stupid it is.

Derek looks severely confused. “Saw me with Erica? Like, in that picture I sent you?”

“No,” Stiles groans and it’s all so fucked up he’d laugh if it wasn’t so tragic. “Funnily enough I thought you had asked me on a date, when you asked me to come to meet Laura at the cinema. So, I did come. And she was sitting in your lap and she was gorgeous, and you were laughing, and I just assumed… I was seething, and on the way home, flashing lights and how would you know, one thing lead to another…”

“I did,” Derek confirms, blinking slowly. “I did sort of ask you on a date.”

“Well, I wasn’t aware of that.”

“I thought you didn’t come. So I got drunk with Erica and, yeah.” Derek sighs softly. “This is a fucking mess,” he groans, but he’s sort of smiling, Stiles thinks, and that’s the only reason he gathers all his courage and says what he’s thinking of.

“I know it’s probably too late,” he starts and it’s like a fucking train wreck but he can’t – this is the last time he’ll make a fool out of himself, Stiles promises, but he can’t let this slip away from him, not after Derek had actually _asked him on a date_ –

\- when it’s possible Derek does actually want him, he’s just been jealous and that’s another conversation altogether, but now – now he needs to do _this_.

So Stiles breathes in and soldiers on. “I understand if you never want to see me again, it’s okay, but if you could even consider – “

He doesn’t even get to finish the sentence, when Derek snaps to look up at him and blurts: “Can I take you out?”

“Don’t. Please.” Stiles inhales and it makes Derek drop his gaze immediately.

“I see,” Derek says quietly and it’s a sound so fragile Stiles just has to gently reach out and take his hand, warm it between his own.

“No, I _want to_ , so fucking much you don’t even know. But unless you really mean it, I can’t just…” Stiles is usually better with words but there’s nothing he can do, he’s all Derek stupid and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m so fucking sorry that I treated you like shit,” Derek says, voice strong and full of regret. The expression on his heart is pure heartbreak. “Nobody deserves that, none the least you, and I was so fucking stupid all along, I just assumed – but even then, it shouldn’t have mattered. It doesn’t. I really – I like you just the way you are, I’m just sorry it took me so fucking long to realize it. But if you think – if you’d still have me…”

Stiles wants none of that. “Ask me again,” he says. He feels elated. Like something’s finally unlocked inside him.

“Would you go out with me?” Derek asks and Stiles almost dies right there as Derek brings his hand to his lips and presses a slight kiss there.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

The smile on Derek’s face: breathtaking.

“Yeah."

And then they kiss.


	6. do what you want tonight, it's alright

Stiles hasn’t gotten to suck Derek’s dick for a week and a half. It’s a problem.

Guess what else is a problem? They still haven’t gone on that stupid fucking date, and right now Stiles is spending another lonely Friday afternoon in his bedroom, moping around thinking about how they probably never will.

He and Derek had agreed on going on a date the day after Lydia's party. So Stiles woke up on Saturday morning so ready to get his fill, only to get a text from Derek about a family emergency. And Stiles was really sympathetic, ok? The Hales are a huge family and Derek sounded really upset in his texts, so Stiles put on his big boy pants and said it was nothing to worry about. Sunday was as good a date day than any, right?

Only then Derek had apparently caught some sort of vomit including stomach flu from his little sister, and obviously had to cancel their plans. Frustrated and nervous, Stiles told him it was fine, really, they could easily go out any night next week, no problem at all, except they _didn’t_.

They’ve been texting constantly and it’s so different and weird – Derek is suddenly asking so much, like he wants to know every single thought and experience Stiles has ever had – and it’s nice, it really is, but Stiles is completely, utterly orgasm-deprived. Whenever he slips a little dirty talk in his texts, suddenly Derek has some housework to do, or he remembers he’s got to be here or there.

They agreed to take it slow and Derek seemed to be so serious about it too. They've seen each other at school, and Derek keeps it so fucking civil, won’t even accidentally brush up against Stiles. Stiles doesn’t know how to bring it up, pretends it doesn’t bother him at all, but of fucking course it does, how could it not?

He’s so afraid this is Derek testing him, seeing if he can behave like a normal person instead of a sex crazed, touch-starved little slut, and it feels _horrible_. Because Stiles _is_ needy and he likes himself that way. He likes sex, wants to touch Derek all the time, make him feel good, and now it seems like Derek doesn’t want that at all. Maybe he’s just thinking about a nice way to let Stiles down, and Stiles feels nothing but hollow at the thought.

So he's reduced to staring at the wall of his own bedroom. He’s never done that before; thought it was only a thing characters in books do when they’re depressed. He’d love nothing more than text Derek, ask whatever the hell’s going on, but he’s so scared he won't like the answer. So he’s sulking; that’s a thing.

His dad is on an overnight shift and wouldn’t even complain about the noise, so Stiles contemplates about putting on some emo music, but he doesn’t even have it in him to turn on his laptop. He closes his eyes, burrows his face in a pillow. How could he be so easily fooled into thinking he could have a happy ending after all?

 

 

He wakes up to his phone ringing and a _which year is this????_ feeling after what must be a 89 year nap. He wipes at the drool on his chin and looks at his phone, only to see it notify that Derek is calling.

For the slightest of seconds Stiles thinks about just letting it be, but he’s never been able to refuse Derek anything. “Hello?” he asks with a sleep raspy voice.

“Stiles? Did you – are you avoiding me?” Derek asks right away and it’s funny, both his tinny voice and outright bizarre question.

“Why the hell would you think that?” Stiles bites at his lip. Is he really getting dumped on phone like Taylor fucking Swift?

“You’re not answering any of my messages, that’s why,” Derek clears and a weird feeling of unpreparedness floods Stiles.

“I fell asleep,” he grumbles and looks at his clock. “Like, fuck, apparently three hours ago. Why, what’s so special?”

“Well,” Derek says in such a faked casual tone, seriously. “That’s a relief. Okay, so. I was just wondering whether you had any plans tonight. And if not, if you maybe wanted to go on a date.”

Stiles’ breath catches. The only thing he can think of saying is: “With you?”

He facepalms mentally. What the shit? Why does his mouth choose to be _this_?

Derek falls quiet for a moment. “I thought it was pretty much implied,” he answers, sounding a bit strangled. “I mean, if you’ve changed your mind…”

Stiles is about to deny the fuck out of that line of thought, but Derek takes a shuddering breath and soldiers right on.

“No, you know what. If you really don’t wanna go out with me, that’s your choice and I promise to respect it. But I’ve been thinking about this the whole week, and I really – it doesn’t have to be a date, if you don’t want to. Just see me. We can talk. Or maybe go to a movie, because that was the plan. Not that you’re obligated or anything, but I’m –fuck, this is _not_ how this was supposed to go.”

Stiles is a little shocked. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Derek rambling like this.

“I’ve only been thinking about you,” he says just to compensate.

He swears he can  _hear_ Derek’s smile.

“Well, that’s good,” Derek says softly. “So have I. So maybe we should quit this call and I’ll come pick you up.”

“Give me an hour,” Stiles promises, he needs a shower and a shave and a fresh set of clothes, Jesus.

“Deal. I’ll see you, then.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye.”

“Bye,” Derek says and that’s it, Stiles quits the call and scrambles up on his feet, heart pounding in his chest, a manic grin on his face.

Goodbye cocksucking drought, he’s got a date with Derek Hale in an hour!

 

 

A total amount of zero cocksucking commences.

Derek comes pick him up; rings the doorbell and he looks good in his cliché leather jacket, carefully styled hair and tight jeans. He gives Stiles flowers. Stiles stumbles with them a little, puts them into water, and thinks about asking whether they should just head to his bedroom and fuck, but Derek hurries him a bit; they’ve got places to be.

They exchange thoughts about the upcoming prom, who's going with who and what's the theme this year, carefully skirting around the subject of who they’re going with. Before Stiles knows it they’re at the Beacon Cinema. Thank fuck it’s not the outdoors one, neither of them would survive that social test, but it’s nice enough, he supposes. Derek offers to pay for Stiles’ ticket, which he forbids, but he does pay for his popcorn.

The movie is a totally dumb one, something about explosions and aliens, and the whole time Stiles is just waiting for Derek to slip a hand in his jeans, hell, he'd even settle for a kiss on the cheek. None of that happens. The movie is an unnecessary waste of two hours of Stiles’ life, but he’s being a good boy and so he says nothing.

However, when the movie’s done and they climb into the sexy Camaro, Stiles thinks this _must_ be it. This is the point when Derek drives them down the preserve, will pull his seat back and let Stiles climb onto his lap and they’ll finally fuck. This can’t be anything else. But surprises just keep coming, because Derek starts driving and parks in front of the most popular diner in the town. Derek hops off, hurries over to open the door for Stiles.

Stiles is _freaking out_. They both get hamburgers and milkshakes and this _must be_ _someone else’s life_. It’s all so good and boring and Stiles isn’t the type of a guy who gets taken on such an ordinary, cute date, he’s just not. Terrible suspicion nestles inside his brain – this is Derek acting out of pity; giving him the fantasy of what it’s like to really date someone, and then he’ll whisk it all away. He’ll say, _well,_ _it was nice that we tried, thanks but no thanks_ , drive Stiles home and maybe press a dry, chaste kiss on his cheek, will drive away before Stiles has even reached the front door.

Derek’s finished his meal and is reciting some story about his and Laura’s childhood shenanigans. Usually Stiles would lap that shit up with a spoon but right now he’s just concentrating on slurping down the last of his milkshake. Better make this quick; it’ll be like ripping off a heart-shaped band aid, no biggie.

“Shall we?” Derek asks when he’s finished, and Stiles barely even nods. The end is near. He lets Derek pay for all of it, thinking that maybe the price of breaking his heart will total up to a neat sum of 34.78 dollars.

Derek pushes his card back to his wallet and looks at Stiles. “You’ve been kinda quiet for the past 20 minutes,” he says, eyebrows drawn together in the middle.

“I’m fine, let’s just go,” Stiles answers shortly. Derek’s face twitches and settles on a grim expression.

_Yeah, I’m onto you_ , Stiles thinks as they walk over to the car. He’s mustering up all of his anger and feels like fucking _screaming_. Derek wasn’t supposed to abandon him like this. He’s been so fucking polite and nice all evening long, who the fuck does he think he’s fooling? He doesn’t want Stiles anymore, fine, he should just man the fuck up and say it, instead of being such a fucking coward who can’t even find it in him to reject Stiles in a fair way.

Derek looks like a dark gloomy cloud personified, and Stiles hates it, hates how he doesn’t hate him, not even the slightest. He should. He should, because Derek is such a fucking dickhead, an absolute douchebag who is now looking back at Stiles, taking a few steps and slamming Stiles against the Camaro, okay, _what_?

All systems alert, Derek is kissing Stiles, with his lips and everything, and it’s real. He pushes his thigh between Stiles’ own, and Stiles cries out a little, a stream of “yes yes yes what took you so fucking long, you _asshole_ ,” escaping from between his lips.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t, I promised I wouldn't treat you bad anymore, but I can’t keep my hands off you, I’m sorry,” Derek gasps and it’s the best thing Stiles has ever heard.

“You’re such a dork, I’ve been waiting for this the whole week, you’re so stupid.” Stiles is so relieved he could cry. He does, in fact, when Derek presses against him with his hips and he feels the familiar weight of his cock against his thigh. It feels like coming home.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t touch you unless you wanted me to, but I – do you want me to?” Derek asks and pulls away to look at Stiles, and he looks a little crazed around the eyes.

“My dad’s working tonight,” is what Stiles says.

“You wanna…” Derek blinks.

Stiles takes his hand, slides it down to his own crotch to show his awakening boner. “What’d you think?” he asks and Derek’s gaze goes hot, focused, and he kisses Stiles with tongue.

“I’m gonna fuck you to the mattress,” he vows, low and dark. _All fucking aboard on the kink train_ , Stiles thinks and even lets Derek open the door for him.

 

 

And cut to them sitting on Stiles’ bed which is so small that according to all laws of physics they should be touching, but Derek’s making sure they aren’t. They should and could be fucking but what are they doing? Not having sex, no; they’re _talking_ about _appropriate sexual limits_ and it’s officially hotter than anything else ever because Derek actually _respects_ Stiles, _wants this to be good for him_ ; Stiles has been steadily leaking in his boxers for fifteen minutes now.

Derek brings up the _upcoming anal penetration_. He talks like that, now, apparently. “But if that doesn’t work for you, I totally respect your boundaries,” Derek says for literally the fourth time tonight.

Stiles can’t take this anymore. He wants to get to the bottom of the issue. “I forgave you a week ago. You know that, right?”

“You did?”

And how can Derek _still_ be so unsure about that? “Dude. I mean, I’m still sort of baffled my nymphomaniac reputation managed to fool you, but it’s – well, it’s not whatever, but I’m just happy you’re doing this.”

“It fooled everyone,” Derek furrows his brow. “I still can’t believe you let me take your virginity without telling me about it.”

“I thought you knew,” Stiles wrangles his hands and it’s awful they’re still having this conversation. “I mean, I didn’t – what were you thinking? _Hey, everybody’s fucked Stiles, so I’m gonna do it too_?”

Derek casts his eyes down on the mattress. “I didn’t really think about it,” he mumbles. “I just – I don’t even wanna say it.”

“Derek,” Stiles says, reaches to touch his hand a little, just to caress it sweetly. “I think you owe me an explanation. What even made you want me, that first time?”

Derek swallows nervously, but to his credit, does look up at Stiles. “I don’t know if you know, but people talk about you, Stiles. It’s so... vulgar. Once after practice I heard some guys talk about how you’d been bragging about a six orgasm night during biology class, about how your prostate had finally been found. And I couldn’t – I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about you, and then after the next practice I noticed you were kind of… staring at me, when I was changing, and I thought. I just wanted that.”

Stiles thinks back to the situation Derek’s talking about, recognizes it immediately. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I remember that class. I was telling Scott about my new dildo and the interesting discoveries I’d made with it.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know?” Derek grimaces. “I thought you were getting dicked on the regular. And then you went on your knees easily enough, so.”

“Do you think I’m easy?” Stiles asks quietly, and that actually feels a bit bad, if he’s honest.

“No,” Derek looks really serious. “No, I – well. For me, yeah. But I kinda like that.”

“I suppose it’s true,” Stiles muses. “So is that what your whole sex ed mission has been about? You expect me to put out on our first date?” he pouts a little just to fuck with Derek.

“No, of course not, I shouldn’t have assumed – I thought we should - fuck, sorry,” Derek stutters in pure panic.

Stiles sighs. “It was a joke. Would you just relax, please.” His boner is definitely waning.

Derek settles down looking as relaxed as a marble statue. “I read some stuff, that’s why,” he blurts.

“Stuff? What stuff?”

“On, you know, what we should do,” Derek tries his best at looking unbothered; fails a big time. “It’s called kink negotiation.” He pronounces it clear and careful.

“You read online BDSM guides,” Stiles realizes.

“Well, yeah.”

“For me.”

“You don’t have to make fun of me, I don’t – I didn’t know much of that shit, so I had to learn somehow, okay?” Derek defends himself, going red in the face.

Stiles _jumps_ on Derek. All bets are off after a sentence like that. “Derek Hale, you better get in me right the fuck now or I’ll go _insane_.”

“But we have to – I have forms,” Derek says but goes helplessly down.

“Don’t tell me you printed some,” Stiles groans, mouths at his neck.

“I did.”

“Trust me, I will talk all about my kinks with you, and I wanna hear about yours, too, Jesus do I ever. But later, okay? Right now I just want – I want this, I want you, please, Derek, I can’t bear it anymore, you have to _touch_ me,” Stiles whines, grinds against Derek. He needs something, _anything_.

Derek lays a very careful hand on his back, caresses at the muscles there. Score. His next words are priceless. “We should settle on a safeword, at least.”

He’s so fucking cute, Stiles wants to keep him _forever_.

“Shrek, that’s mine,” he says immediately. Derek’s hands settle on his skin. “What? That’s the least sexy thing I can imagine, I decided it on like three years ago,” Stiles defends himself.

“Only you would,” Derek rolls his eyes, eases up a bit. Stiles is totally ready to just get the sex train moving, but Derek clears his throat, and now he’s definitely blushing. “Okay. Mine’s, uh. Wolfsbane.”

Stiles has to sit up a little, ends up in a riding position, staring down at Derek. “You, you have a safeword.”

“I read that – uh – doms are supposed to have ones too,” Derek shrugs the little he can and he’s not even averting his gaze from Stiles, and Stiles has to pinch at his own thigh a little just to keep himself from shooting right there.

“You’re so fucking sexy, do you know that? Come on, I need to – I have to suck your dick right now,” he demands, eager hands flying down for Derek’s fly.

Except Derek is the cruelest, most perfect human being in existence, because he grabs at Stiles’ hands, takes them in a gentle hold. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Derek, please,” Stiles squirms, it’s too much to be on the receiving end of that piercing gaze, the tender tone.

Derek licks at his lips. “What do you want, babe?” he asks and the pet name flares Stiles up from the inside.

“Just – you,” he says helplessly. Derek lets go of his now trembling hands, caresses Stiles’ cheek.

“Yeah? Want my dick in you?” he says and thank fucking god they’re back on track. It has Stiles physically shaking, he feels so small and needy and good, like he finally belongs.

“Please,” Stiles whispers, so shy all of sudden. “Talk to me.”

“What do you wanna hear?”

“Anything.”

Derek flips him over, covers him with his body, kisses him dirty and deep. “You could’ve asked me for anything,” he says softly, tugs at Stiles’ shirt. “And you simply wanna hear me talk. You don’t even – you’re such a _slut_ for it, Stiles. You just wanna be dicked down, don't you.”

Stiles’ hips buck. He goes all soft and malleable, lets Derek take the shirt off him, feels the edges of his mind giving in to the subdrop already. “C’mon, get naked, I wanna see you, I’ve missed it so much, your perfect body.”

Thankfully Derek smiles down at him and does as requested; he gets them both naked, movements gentle and careful, and this is so torturous Stiles would like to cry, but it’s not the time for that, not yet.

“Tell me, Stiles.” Derek settles back against him, this time skin against skin. “What I wanna know is when was the last time you got stuffed by your greedy fingers,” he wonders. “Have you missed my cock?”

“Missed you,” Stiles claws at Derek’s back. “Please, please, the lube’s in the drawer, I can’t – you have to touch me.”

“Touch you where?” Derek asks, mildly interested, lays a heavy hand on Stiles’ nipple. “Here?”

“Nooo no, lower,” Stiles wails. Derek’s hand trails down to caress his stomach.

“Here?”

“My ass,” Stiles gasps. “My ass, Derek, please play with it, stretch me on your cock, I need you inside.”

“Show me,” Derek commands.

Stiles spreads his legs immediately, lifts them up to show off his needy hole. “Here, look,” he says, the familiar feeling of satisfied embarrassment spreading through him when Derek lowers to look at his hole.

“How’s it feel, babe? All empty? Want me to put something in?”

“Yeah, yes please. Can you – just lick it a little, I liked it so much when you did it that one time.”

Derek looks up at him, surprised. “You should’ve told me you needed it that bad,” he says. “That you wanted my mouth on you. Should’ve said.”

“I didn’t know how,” Stiles confesses. “I just – please, can you? Just give it a little – slip a little tongue in, that’s all, you don’t have to do anything else.”

Derek bites at his thigh, _fuck_. “You’re not the one who gives the orders here,” he growls. “Hold yourself open.”

Stiles does. His thighs are trembling when he feels Derek on his asshole, nothing but a gentle press of lips at first, and then a tongue is circling at the pucker.

He wasn’t lying, he fucking loved it the one time Derek did this before, but it was quick and fleeting then, Stiles was a bit too embarrassed to enjoy it fully, but now? He throws his head back and _howls,_ which makes Derek sink his fingers in his hips. “Look at me,” he says. “You want me to suck on your slutty hole, you’re gonna watch me do it too.”

“Fine, fine, okay,” Stiles says, can’t stop himself, reaches down to push Derek’s head back where it belongs. “Just please, lick at me, I need – I need you to eat my ass.”

And thank fuck Derek must want it too, doesn’t even comment on the hands in his hair, starts fucking Stiles with his tongue best he can, taking his sweet time with it. He generates between little flicks and board licking and Stiles loves every second of it.

Derek pulls back and spits on his hole, the sensation of it strange and arousing. He holds Stiles open, just looks, and Stiles would feel ashamed if it was anybody else, but now? He just _wants_.

“You’re as tight as the day I first fucked you,” Derek marvels as he starts pushing a finger inside. “God, Stiles. I can’t believe you let me fuck your virgin ass the first time, that you let me in.”

“I wanted you so much, didn’t even think about it, wanted you to give it to me so badly,” Stiles babbles. “I need to feel you again, I’m aching.”

“Look at you, offering it up for me so easy.” Derek is completely hypnotized by how Stiles’ hole swallows his second finger. “Don’t worry, babe. You’re gonna get what you need, I’m taking care of you now. Just let go.”

And Stiles almost blackens out. He gives in, and Derek is so good; fingers him so he’s stretched enough, gets the lube from the nightstand, makes sure Stiles is wet enough and then, _finally finally finally_ pushes inside him, all long and slow.

He keeps talking through it, a detailed commentary of what he wants to do to Stiles, what he’s _going_ to do. How Stiles doesn’t ever again have to worry about getting the dick he needs, because Derek will be there to fill him up, whenever he needs.

“And you’re gonna spread your legs for me wherever I want too, aren’t you?” Derek asks all silky, sliding inside Stiles with smooth pushes and pulls. “I can call you at 3AM and you’ll just sneak out, come to my house, let me empty my balls into you because you want my come so bad. You’re so fucking proud of it, of getting my cum, it’s crazy how much you love it.”

“I do, I love it when you cum inside me, on me, in my mouth, I don’t care,” Stiles says.

“One of these days I’m gonna put a plug in you,” Derek groans, nails Stiles’ prostate with careful strikes. “I’m gonna come in you and make you keep it in all day, and only when you’ve sucked my dick enough, I’ll take it out and feed it to you. And how do you behave, what do you say when I give you what your twisted little sluthole wants?”

“I say thank you,” Stiles swallows back tears. “You’re so good for me, Derek, tell me what to do. I wanna be your good boy, that's all I want.”

“You are.” Derek sounds fucking wrecked. “God, Stiles, you’re being such a good boy for me. Come on, fuck my cock back, don’t make me do all the work here. Kiss it with that pretty pussy, make out with my big dick.”

“Like this?” Stiles adapts to Derek’s movements, making them merge into one, eyes bright and focused on Derek’s face.

Derek can’t help but claim his mouth in a kiss then, and that’s all Stiles needs to come, does it without as much as a hand on his cock; it’s enough, Derek pushing into his prostrate, that tight stomach gliding against his cock. He’s coming, electricity in the contact, and Derek keeps kissing him through it.

“Look at me,” Derek says when the spasms stop, grabs blindly at Stiles’ hand, intertwining them. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Stiles sobs, body still trembling but voice steady. “Just yours. Always have been, will be as long as you want me. Nobody could want you as much as I do. I need you to come in me, Derek, I want you to come _now_.”

Derek closes his eyes, mouth opening, and he's filling him up so good and full, dick pulsing with it.

Stiles can’t stop gasping, has to carefully detangle their hands just to wrap his around Derek’s waist. Derek is heavy and comfortable on top of him, Stiles wants to crawl inside him, wants to take a spoon and take bites out of Derek and replace it with all of himself.

It’s fucking weird, that’s what it is, but Stiles has never been big on sanity anyway.

Derek takes a few breaths, starts pulling away, and Stiles wouldn’t let him unless he didn’t sliver down Stiles’ body, down to his hole, and start sucking out his own come.

“Push it out, babe,” Derek orders. "Such a big load, need to make sure it doesn't go to waste." And Stiles complies, gets it out into Derek’s awaiting tongue. When he’s done enough, Derek comes back up and they kiss just like that, unbelievably filthy and messy, Derek feeding his own come into Stiles’ mouth.

They keep kissing until Stiles has swallowed down every single drop, and only then Derek collapses against him, drained and satisfied.

Stiles pushes a hand into his hair, keeps treading his long fingers through it. “Will you stay with me?” he asks quiet and hopeful.

“Yeah, if you let me,” Derek says like it’s easy like that.

And maybe it is. Stiles is smiling like an idiot, but it’s okay. “Yeah, fine. But hey – next, we’re trying the D word.”

“What’s that?” Derek asks, presses a tiny little kiss on Stiles’ chest. He sounds like he's on the verge of sleep already.

“Daddy,” Stiles whispers. Feels Derek’s spent dick twitch against his thigh and smiles. Good things are coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap!! Okay so first of all I wanna say a lil something about this fic's Derek: he's an absolute twat and I'm really happy the readers have recognized it too. The dynamic of Stiles and Derek's sexual relationship is so twisted until last chapter when they're actually sitting down and talking about it a bit. King negotiation is so, so, so important!! Also assuming someone's sexual history without bothering to ask them is such a bad look. Shame on you Derek. But it's okay, he's learning. Stiles will make sure he will.
> 
> But most importantly SO MUCH THANKS to everybody who's commented and left kudos, you guys are my lifeline. I'd love to hear what you think of the ending!!


End file.
